Revelations
by Furious Angel
Summary: A perverse game of cat and mouse begins in Charenton, and a whole new host of mistaken identities and intimate madness begin to arise...Chapter 6 up!
1. Divine Intervention

The asylum was silent apart from the soothing scratching of a quill over paper. The night outside was still, the occasional breeze awakening some leaves and waltzing with them. Shafts of moonlight pierced the Marquis' quarters, falling upon the tacky ornaments and his treasured quills. His bedsheets were in array, swirled and peaked like the froths of the ocean, the result of late night inspiration. Occasional drops of scarlet ink led to his precious paper, profanities and sins of the flesh written in the most elegant handwriting. The Marquis tugged at his impressive garnet ring, yanking it over his knuckle and throwing it aside. Despite its beauty, it did occasionally intervene with the flow of his writing.   
  
  
  
*She was a virginal laundry lass, darling of the lower wards, with the insatiable appetite of a wild animal...*  
  
  
The quill continued to animate the Marquis' lewd thoughts and raucous imagination, bringing lusty harlots and hungry men to life, all knowing no boundaries or limits. He hummed under his breath; eyes never leaving the page as he dipped the quill into the inkpot, revitalising his flow of ideas.   
  
The Marquis stopped, mid-word, and leant back in his ornate chair. A slow, contented smile spread across his prison-wearied face as the inspiration for his central character entered his head.  
  
  
  
*Oh Maddie...*  
  
  
Madeline was the Marquis' saviour, a true angel in a suitably beautiful disguise. She was his one connection with the outside world, selflessly smuggling out his scribblings to the thirsty French public. Every time her melodic voice chirruped through the small gap in his door, he heart would leap and he would get that familiar stirring in his loins as he anticipated another visit from her. He was full aware that she was attracted to him, to his sexual power. He could have her at any time he wanted, how he wanted, but he still had enough respect for her as of not to ravage her at any opportunity. Nevertheless, her angelic curls, wickedly cheeky face and, most importantly to the Marquis, generous cleavage never failed to arouse him.   
  
  
*I have a rival to Maddie's love.*  
  
  
Abbé Coulmier- caring, gentle, kind...and foolish over Maddie. He was also a friend to the Marquis; he had laughed politely at his crude jokes, shared cheap cellar wine, grimaced at his outrageous antics. He occasionally maddened the Marquis, denying his human desires, repressing them until the strain showed on his handsome face.   
  
  
  
*Why doesn't he just have her and then we'd all be happy...*   
  
  
  
The Marquis knew that that last thought wasn't true. If Abbé were to have his Maddie in the way that he wanted her, the jealousy he would feel would burn away at his insides. He had seen the way Abbé looked at Maddie, his pale green eyes lingering too long upon her form.   
  
  
  
*I'll write him into my novel, that should embarrass him enough to leave Maddie to me.*  
  
  
  
'Marquis! You shouldn't be up so late.'  
  
  
  
Marquis turned around in his chair and smiled inanely at his late-night visitor. It was Abbé, still dressed in his waking-hour clothes, clearly unable to sleep.  
  
  
  
'My darling Abbé, you don't seem to be inciting sleep yourself.' Marquis raised an eyebrow and poised his quill over the paper, listening to the Abbé's footsteps approach him. Abbé deftly plucked the quill from Marquis' hand and put it back in the pot.  
  
  
  
'Enough for one night. You need your sleep.' Marquis placed his legs up on his table and leered at Abbé. He enjoyed seeing the Abbé's eyes awkwardly travel along the floor, look at the quills, the bed, anything but the Marquis himself. Abbé was relieved to see Marquis' ring glimmering, solitary, on the floor. He scooped it into his hand and placed it upon Marquis' desk. Marquis thrived in the discomfort that the young man was clearly in.  
  
  
  
'That garnet is the hardest rock known to man.'  
  
  
  
Abbé smiled pleasantly, although he did not truly understand what was going on. He just wanted to rid himself of the Marquis for one night.   
  
  
  
'Come, Marquis, sleep. We have an early start tomorrow, with the play and all.' The Marquis smirked with the knowing leer of a whoremaster.   
  
  
  
'If inspiration has kept me awake Abbé, what has been depriving you of sleep? Is it lusty thoughts?'   
  
  
  
Abbé rolled his eyes and sighed. Despite his long friendship with the Marquis, his suggestive comments still caught him by surprise. Some of the things that the man came out with were quite disgusting; yet Abbé was ashamed to admit that he often felt a laugh rise within him, having to wrestle with his self-control to keep it at bay. Normally, the beginnings of a shy smile would play at the corner of his lips, but tonight he had neither the energy nor the tolerance to sustain such sordid remarks.   
  
  
The Marquis shook his head and with a contained laugh arranged the quills neatly in the pot. He shuffled his papers and placed them gingerly down on his table, distant eyes travelling lovingly over them as if they were his children. He rose slowly, teasingly slowly to his feet, stretched like a cat and made his way to his bed. Abbé carefully monitored every move he made.  
  
  
*The man certainly is scheming.*  
  
  
  
Abbé nodded in satisfaction when the Marquis settled down in bed, however reluctantly. He smiled satisfactorily and went to turn.  
  
  
'Abbé...'  
  
  
The voice, more of a purr, was dripping in sadistic enjoyment. Abbé clenched his jaw and faced the Marquis.  
  
  
  
'What is it?'  
  
  
Marquis grinned, his eyes glimmering with suggestion.  
  
  
  
'Don't fancy joining me, do you?'  
  
  
Abbé tutted and shut the door behind him. Behind the door, the Marquis smirked.   
  
  
  
  
Madeline's sleep was light and ephemeral. Although her body was exhausted by her laborious laundrying, her mind refused to stop cease its wasp-like buzzing. Her mother slept peacefully alongside her, blissfully unaware of her daughter's sleeplessness and also the fact that she had pulled the freshly washed sheet fully over to her side of the bed. Madeline woke from her doze to the sound of hasty footsteps, which were unusual for this time of night. She gingerly swung her legs out of the bed, drawing in a sharp breath over her lips as her feet made contact with the cold floor. She padded quietly to the door of her quarters, peeping furtively out of the tiny gap. She captured a haze of black rushing past her, but he or she were too fast for her to draw any recognition.   
  
  
  
*Maybe it was Abbé...*  
  
  
  
Madeline frowned to herself in the form of a silent self-scorning. Despite Abbé's -  
  
  
  
*Restrictions...*  
  
  
  
-promises as a priest, Madeline still felt her stomach plunge a little whenever he spoke to her. Once he had kissed her cheek as a polite thank-you, and she could have sworn that her skin tingled.  
  
  
  
*Like being kissed by the lips of God...well, not the winking eye of God anyway.*  
  
  
  
Madeline grinned to herself and repressed a giggle. The Marquis never failed to humour her. She always tried to act nonchalantly when he read her a sample of his prose, but in truth if was like a fire in her belly.   
  
  
  
*Must have been a fireball when he kissed me then...*  
  
  
  
  
The Marquis' somewhat forced kiss on Madeline was her first real kiss. Stolen   
pecks with local boys in her younger years didn't really count. But the Marquis had really kissed her, like a man. Madeline had pretended that she didn't like it, but in truth she adored it. He was like a sexual predator, and she was his prey. But he would never hurt her. He admired her too much for that.   
  
  
  
All of these lewd thoughts enflamed Madeline with a mixture of adrenaline and arousal, and in the heat of the moment she opened the door to her quarters. The corridor was cold and lifeless, and the silence seemed uneasy. Usually the occasional wail or shriek came from one of the inmate's cells, but tonight they slept as soundly as they did as children.   
  
  
  
Madeline's room was only a short distance away from the Abbé's, but she still felt like she was creeping for miles. The heavy door was practically impossible to shut quietly, and despite her efforts it closed with a loud bang. Madeline grimaced and made her way up to the Abbé.  
  
  
  
  
Abbé slowly unbuttoned his cassock and sighed loudly. Unlike Maddie, his mind was debilitated, but his body was wide awake.   
  
  
  
*I'm not prepared to risk a brisk walk around this place in the dead of night for the sake of earlier sleep.*  
  
  
  
He neatly folded his clothes and placed them on a chair in the corner of his room. Abbé's room was very simple, a large bed, a shelf populated with books and his chair in the corner. Shivering with cold, he shrugged on his night-shirt and pulled back his bedsheets. Just as he was about to slide under the sheets, he heard a knock at the door.  
  
  
  
*Who on...*  
  
  
  
Abbé hurried to his feet, walking over to the door as calmly as he could, considering the fact that he was in an asylum with a late-night visitor. As he gingerly pulled the door back, his heart leapt as he saw Maddie's beautiful face lurking behind it.   
  
  
  
'Maddie! What on earth are you doing up at this hour?'  
  
  
  
He opened the door further, beckoning Maddie to come in. She smiled girlishly and shrugged her shoulders. She looked far younger in her night-gown, curves not quite as prominent as in her everyday clothes. Abbé couldn't help but notice this, but nonetheless a stab of guilt penetrated his heart. Madeline stood in the centre of the room, looking quite lost. Abbé made his way to the bed and patted a spot next to him. Madeline beamed and sat there.  
  
  
  
'Well, I couldn't sleep and I heard someone go past...I thought it was you.'  
  
  
  
Abbé nodded and laughed quietly.   
  
  
  
'Probably was me. I'm having trouble with the Marquis again.'  
  
  
  
Madeline raised an eyebrow. She again tried to remain distant on the subject of the Marquis, but in all truth it didn't work.  
  
  
  
'Again? What's he up to this time?'  
  
  
  
Abbé glanced at the floor and caught sight of Madeline absent-mindedly rubbing her forearms to generate some heat. Goosebumps had broken out all over her body, starting at her neck...trailing down to the hem of her scoop neckline to...  
  
  
  
*Stop it.*  
  
  
  
He rose to his feet and lifted a robe from his chair.   
  
  
  
'Oh, just being a little disruptive- writing when he should be sleeping...here you go.'  
  
  
  
He gently placed the robe around Madeline and sat back down. Madeline smiled gratefully and snuggled into the robe. She mustered a look of disapproval onto her face.  
  
  
  
'Oh him and his nasty stories. The man knows no limits.'  
  
  
  
The Abbé, this time with genuine disapproval, sat with his head in his hands. Although the ever-increasing fatigue was the cause of such a stature, he looked like the picture of misery. Madeline frowned and placed a maternal hand on his arm.  
  
  
  
'Are you alright Abbé?'  
  
  
  
Despite the lack of sexuality in Madeline's touch, a chill ran through Abbé's body that froze his blood and formed icicles on his veins. His eyes snapped open and he tried to regain control of himself.  
  
  
  
'Of course Maddie, just tired. I should really get some sleep.'  
  
  
  
Madeline was disappointed. She could have quite happily talked with the Abbé until the sun made its presence known, maybe even held his hand. She stood up and straightened out her night-gown. Abbé stifled a yawn and lay back on the bed, pulling the sheets up over him. He was too familiar with Maddie to see her out, many a time he had left her quarters with her folding linens or writing a practice letter that he had assigned her. As she reached the door, Madeline placed her hands on her hips and strode over to the bed.   
  
  
  
'Goodness Abbé, you really are quite untidy at times.'  
  
  
  
Madeline deftly tucked in the sheets with the flourish and speed of a connoisseur. She was scheming away in her head, using something as trifling as an untucked sheet to get closer to the Abbé. Abbé, despite his polite smile, was flaming inside. His eyes travelled all over Maddie, almost adopting a mind of their own. His pulse quickened and he felt the same old arousal cascade through his body. It was different this time- he wasn't fantasising that Maddie was this close to him- she actually was. He had to stop himself from pulling to her to him and kissing her, years of coercion making his groin ache and lips burn.   
  
  
  
*Please God let me have the control...*  
  
  
  
Before the Abbé felt that he would explode, Maddie straightened up and grinned.  
  
  
  
'There you go. Much better.'  
  
  
  
The Abbé smiled and nodded, practically devoid of his voice. Maddie brushed a wayward lock of dark brown hair from her face and made her way to the door, peeking around it just before she closed it.   
  
  
  
'Goodnight.'  
  
  
  
  
Madeline shut the door behind her and bit her lip. She knew how he had felt when she leant over him like that. Just as she turned to tiptoe back to her room, a voice pierced the air.  
  
  
  
'Late night visit to the resident priest, hmm?'  
  
  
  
Madeline spun around in horror. There, lurking in the shadows, was the Marquis, a sickening leer smeared over his face. He shook his head.  
  
  
  
'Oh dear, virginal Maddie...what were you doing?'  
  
  
  
A deep flush crept over Madeline's face like ivy. She grasped at her skirts.  
  
  
  
'It's not what it seems Marquis. Give your sordid little mind a rest.'  
  
  
  
Madeline turned to walk away, heart thumping with her footsteps. The Marquis caught up with her, speeding up so that he could obstruct her path. He placed a casual arm on her doorframe and leant on it.   
  
  
  
'I can see it in you Maddie. You touched him.'  
  
  
  
In one swift movement, the Marquis snaked his hand around Madeline's neck and pulled her up against him, his lips planted on hers. Madeline writhed under his grasp, but he was too strong. Her lips ground against her teeth and she squeezed her eyes shut. Finally, the Marquis pulled away. He made a show of licking his lips.  
  
  
  
'Hmm, didn't kiss him....I can tell. But who needs to kiss to fuck?'   
  
  
  
Madeline gasped in fury.  
  
  
  
'How dare you accuse me of such a thing! My relationship with Abbé is strictly platonic.'  
  
  
  
Madeline struggled to keep her voice less than a loud whisper. If Abbé were to overhear, she would die. The Marquis finally turned his back to her and sneered over his shoulder.   
  
  
  
'And what is platonic? Latin for a laundry lass servicing a man of God?'  
  
  
  
Before Madeline could retort, the Marquis was back in his quarters. Madeline shut her eyes and groaned. She made her way back into bed and contemplated her actions.   
  
  
  
  
Back in his quarters, the Marquis seethed in anger. He whipped a quill from his pot and began to hastily scrawl out words on his paper. He knew how Maddie felt about Abbé, and this was his sole inspiration for his new story. He stopped suddenly, and looked straight ahead. His eyes sparkled with vitality and knowledge.   
  
  
  
*I could ruin lives...but I always think a tragedy is so much better.*  
  
  
  
He was prepared to mould and shape those around him to his approval, and outrage the people of France with his most biographical novel yet... 


	2. Ripe For Corruption

The new morning brought with it energising sunshine, cloudless blue skies and a Springlike zest to the air. The asylum seemed a little less grey; the small grassland surrounding it adorned with tiny jewels of dew. The inmates were yet to be awakened, still enveloped in quiet sleep. Despite all of this blissful serenity and peace, Abbé was laying in bed, green eyes full of adversity. His stare was fixated upon the wall, knowing that a small distance away, Madeline slept. He imagined her laying in her bed, body rising and swelling with the light rhythm of sleep, chestnut hair splayed on her pillow. His heart still raged with contradictory emotions, making his stomach sink and his head pound. He felt shameful for his human reactions and thoughts, but at the same time he couldn't help but revel in getting so close to what he wanted. He had dreamt about Madeline before, being with her. Even making love to her on one occasion. Secretly, deep within him, he knew that that was what he longed for. He couldn't fail to admit that each time Maddie graced his presence he felt a heat travel all the way through his body and a euphoric haze encompass him. A flittering smile grazed his lips.  
  
  
*She's probably dreaming right at this very moment.*  
  
  
In actual fact, Madeline was far from dreaming. Sleep avoided her for the remainder of the night, and she ended up practising her handwriting out of boredom until she could leave for her laundry duties. Down in the laundryroom, she routinely stirred at the sheets, her mind clearly elsewhere. Her brow was slightly furrowed and her skin was ashen, devoid of its usual rosy glow. Not even the heat of the water below her could flush her cheeks. Madeline tucked a stray curl behind her ear and glanced up. She wasn't alone. There, at the entrance of the room, stood the Abbé. Madeline drew in a sharp breath and jolted.  
  
"Abbé! I thought I was alone."  
Concern was inscribed onto his face. His cassock made him look slim, girlish almost, swallowing him in black.   
  
"I'm sorry if I startled you. I didn't mean to."  
  
Madeline forced a nervous smile onto her face. One thought sprang with worrying force into her mind.  
  
*He doesn't know about the Marquis...*  
  
"Of course not. You come to see me for any special reason?"  
  
Abbé seemed to be taken aback by her bluntness. It was a mere interpretation. Maddie hadn't meant to seem cold. It was just that she wanted to hide her anxiety about the Marquis from Abbé. She didn't want to worry him. Abbé clasped his hands in front of him and nodded his head.  
  
"Not particularly. Just to wish you good day."  
Madeline stirred at the sheets and focussed her attention onto the job at hand. At the moment, she was too panicked and tense about last night's occurrences.  
  
"Right, finished that lot. What do you want me to do now?"  
  
A new voice broke the silence. Madeline sighed inwardly with relief, and Abbé was grateful to receive an opportunity to leave. Abbé turned to face the owner of the voice, and was somewhat surprised at what he saw. She wasn't much younger than Maddie, but the girl carried with her the confidence of someone much older. Her fair hair was scraped back into a plait, slender hands placed on her hips as she awaited Madeline's response. Her aquamarine eyes had a certain virility and life to them, a quality that Abbé had often noted in Maddie. At her feet, a basket full of linens.  
  
"Ah Victoria, I don't believe you've met Abbé. Victoria, Abbé de Coulmier. Abbé, Victoria."  
  
Madeline tried to inject some buoyancy into her voice. Victoria gathered her skirts and shook Abbe's hand, clearly analysing him. Madeline noticed that he pulled away first.  
  
"Are you new here Victoria? I don't believe I've seen you before."  
Victoria dusted herself off and straightened her skirts.   
  
"Started last week." She turned to Madeline. "What do you want me to do now? Clean some of those linens?"  
  
Madeline went to nod, but she quickly stopped herself.  
  
*I cannot face the Marquis.*  
  
"I'll let you continue collecting the linens from the nearest corridor."  
  
Victoria smiled and emptied her basket into the tub. When Madeline turned to watch her leave, the Abbé was gone.  
  
The Marquis was watching an execution going on in the yard outside. Executions always gave him inspiration, especially when they involved some aristocrat who should really know better. He drummed his garishly-decorated fingers on the table in front of him; his quill and paper at the ready. He was expecting Madeline any minute now, coming to collect his linens on her daily round. His story had come along quite well last night- twenty pages or so, each and every one saturated in eroticism and depravity.   
  
*Writing always seems to come so much easier when you know the characters.*  
  
The Marquis knew that nothing had happened last night between his Maddie and Abbé. But he enjoyed making up fables to fuel his stories. Maddie and Abbé just happened to be excellent templates. One day, he would get Abbé to succumb to the emotion that he created. It wouldn't be for a long time, though. He knew Abbé too well.  
  
*The boy is in need of-*  
  
The thump of the execution blade halted the Marquis' thoughts. He glanced out of the window and smirked as another criminal got their just desserts. As he leant back in his chair, a bird-like voice sang through the gap in his door.  
  
"Your linens, please."  
  
The Marquis sat bolt upright.  
  
*That isn't Maddie!*  
  
He walked over to the door and peeped through the keyhole. She wasn't Maddie, but she was good as.   
  
*Virginal little lass...not yet corrupted...*  
  
The Marquis stooped down to the gap where the girl was crouching and smirked.  
  
"Good morning, my dear."  
  
The girl jumped and whipped her hand to her chest. Shock filled her eyes and panic shifted onto her face. The Marquis almost...almost felt sorry for her.  
  
"Oh my child. I didn't mean to make you jump. Just wanted to introduce myself."  
  
He watched as a shy, blossoming smile made its way onto the girl's face. She peeped through the slot and made eye contact with the Marquis.  
  
"Well, hello. Can I have your linens please?"  
  
The Marquis faked deep thought and raised his finger in the air.  
  
"At a price."  
  
The girl evidently considered it.  
  
"And what would that be?"  
  
"You tell me your name, I'll give you my linens."  
  
The girl sighed. Clearly, she was expecting something quite horrific.  
  
*Already she's scared of me and she hasn't read my work yet...quite an achievement.*  
  
"My name's Victoria."  
  
The Marquis refrained from leering at her. He slid his hand through the gap in the door. Victoria, although hesitantly, took it and shook it retiringly.  
  
"Glorious to meet you Victoria. The pleasure's all mine."  
  
He walked away from the door and gathered his linens, brain ticking energetically away. As she bundled the linens into her basket, Marquis could see a blush creep onto Victoria's cheeks. Despite this, she flashed him a grin and turned on her heel to continue down the corridor. As soon as she left, the Marquis dashed over to his desk and being to scrawl over the paper. He had new character to include into his story.   
  
  
The air was chill and a thin sliver of the moon had started to appear in the sky. Despite the settling calm that had began to envelop the surrounding grounds, Charenton was still buzzing. Earlier, a rat had scuttled across the laundrymaid's domain and caused all manner of chaos, only eased when a suitably irritated Royer-Collard stepped in and disposed of said animal. In truth, the only reason he had attended to their troubles was his own excitement at their squeals of fright, but in the end he looked quite the hero. Madeline had stepped in towards the end of the incident, seeing the other laundrymaids cowering in corners and hitching up their skirts. Shaking her head, she dropped her empty basket onto the floor and brushed her hair from her face. She had not seen the Marquis all day, and she knew that she would have to face him tomorrow. Victoria had done it today, and had not told Madeline of any misconduct, so that surely must have been a good sign.   
  
In all truth, the Marquis wasn't misbehaving. He wasn't threatening or intimidating anyone- in actual fact, he hadn't touched anyone. But his quill continued to dance over his dusted paper and his mind continued to tick. Flooded with contentment with his latest chapter, the Marquis clenched and unclenched his aching fingers. He rubbed absent mindedly at his hands, removing blotches and streaks of ink.   
  
*My little vignette is coming along quite nicely, even if I do say so myself.*  
  
Madeline had been racing through his mind whenever the quill made contact with the paper. Here she really lived. Her character was no longer virginal or virtuous, no longer had morals. In Marquis' mind, she was wretched, disgusting, ravenous. She offered herself to any man, a lowly whore with a blackened heart and burning lust. Of course, the Marquis considered such traits to be qualities. He had...tarnished the Abbé somewhat within the boundaries of his imagination.   
  
*A man of God! His thoughts would make the saints gasp for air and the angels weep...*  
  
A depraved sneer contorted the Marquis' features. Despite his joy at such a scandalous tale flowing from the quill, underneath his blood coursed through his veins with worrying force. Every time that he saw Abbé he imagined her with his Madeline, doing to her what he had wanted for an eternity.   
  
*She probably doesn't even know what it all involves...*  
  
Marquis hardly noticed that Charlotte had entered the room until she placed his tray on the table in front of him. She didn't even acknowledge him.  
  
"Why thank you Charlotte."  
  
Charlotte turned, her miserable features repulsed by the Marquis. He smiled at her and raised his glass.  
  
"Cheers, you miserable whore."  
  
Charlotte's eyes widened as she turned on her heel and stormed out. His ears expected the loud, corrosive slam of the door, but when it didn't come his eyes lifted to the doorway. There stood Victoria, a furtive expression on her flushed face. The Marquis took a sip from his wineglass and interlocked his fingers.  
  
"Child, what on Earth are you doing here?"  
  
Victoria scurried over to him, strands of blonde hair falling into her eyes. In one deft movement, she planted a small pouch onto his tray. She stood back, eyeing her masterpiece, hands clasped in front of her. The Marquis pulled at the strings that bound the pouch and fished inside. There, snug in the bottom, was a large emerald ring. The Marquis slipped it over his finger and held it up to the light.  
  
"Do you like it?"  
  
"Oh but of course, dear. Where on Earth did you get this?"  
  
Victoria glanced at the floor.  
  
"It was my father's. It was just that I saw you wearing your other ring and thought that you might like another."  
  
"Oh dear heart, you Father didn't only pass on sublime characteristics. He passes jewellery aswell."  
  
The Marquis drummed his newly decorated fingers on the table.  
  
"How can I repay you?"  
  
Victoria smiled and waved a nervously dismissive hand.  
  
"You owe me nothing. It's a gift; I do not expect anything in return."  
  
*Accept the offer, child...*  
  
The Marquis pulled out a wedge of paper from under the current pile, a completed short story grasped between his fingers. With the other hand he pulled Victoria to him, sliding the paper into her own quivering grip.  
  
"What is this?"  
  
"Bedtime reading. Now go and learn."  
  
Victoria's eyes skimmed over the pages, and one slender finger stopped in the centre of one of them.  
  
"I do not wish to appear silly Marquis..."  
  
*She called me by a name...oh my dear, you are progressing!*  
  
"...but I do not understand some of these terms."  
  
He knew what she meant. A few of his lewder similes and metaphors had slipped into said story.  
  
"They will come to you, dear, when you are ready."  
  
Victoria beamed at the Marquis and headed for the doorway. As she went to close the door, his voice penetrated the air.  
  
"Oh, and by the way...the Abbé de Coulmier sends his love."  
  
"He did?"  
  
"Yes child." De Sade flexed his fingers and glanced at them effeminately. "He speaks very fairly of you...of your attributes."  
  
Victoria blushed a pretty pink and a finger wrapped itself in her hair. Her lips mouthed a silent 'goodnight.' Marquis laughed to himself. The girl would have to go to Confession tomorrow after reading his little chapter. 


	3. Preaching From The Perverted

The faint, white-yellow glow of candlelight seeped under the small gap underneath Victoria's quarters. She was normally asleep by now, but her current reading matter had her enthralled. Eyes not drinking in the text quickly enough, she licked a forefinger and hurriedly flipped to the next page. The story seemed to positively speak to her, encapturing her young questioning and innocence.   
  
  
  
  
"To all the young maidens of the world, those not yet corrupted- fear not, for it seems that corruption is not merely a physical act. Far from it, my dear readers, as I am here to prove. Within your darling naivety and shameless curiosity, you may assume that the deflowering of maidens is the loss of their innocence. Nonsense! Corruption all starts in the mind, and here is an exquisite example of such occurrence…"  
  
  
  
Victoria continued to read, eyes wide, ceasing only when she heard Michette stir. Michette was a rather precocious young laundry maid who also happened to share quarters with Victoria. Victoria had grown quite accustomed to Michette's usually noisy night-time frolics- sometimes with more than one man at a time.   
  
  
Michette opened one eye and attempted to sit up.  
  
  
"Oi…what you doing up so late, little miss?"  
  
  
Victoria blushed and attempted to hide the parchments, fingers trembling.   
  
  
"Oh, er, nothing Michette. Just a little read before I go to sl…"  
  
Michette was far too quick for Victoria. She snatched the parchments out of her hand, raising an eyebrow in surprise. Victoria drew the bedsheet up to her chin, almost trying to make herself disappear. Michette let out a dirty giggle from her side of the bed at her discovery of Victoria's venture into such lascivious prose.  
  
  
"My my…awful rude, this is, for a youngster like yourself- better suited to me, I s'pose!"  
  
  
Michette sat up haughtily in the fashion of a pianist settling in front of their beloved instrument.   
  
  
"Never before had Monsieur Loisel seen such a desirable form upon such a youngster- surely she could not have been of more than fifteen winters," Michette winked at Victoria, aware of the girl's similarity to such age, "but nonetheless, that did not stop him from appreciating her many talents, which included the most accommodating mouth…" Michette collapsed into giggles, throwing the parchments back at Victoria.   
  
  
"Honestly, not another fan of the Marquis. His ego shall be swelling soon…as well another part of his body if you 'pay' him for his stories."  
  
  
Embarrassment slowly fading, Victoria blew out the candle next to her and settled into bed, grabbing the parchments and placing them on the stone floor.  
  
  
"What do you mean, paying for stories? You mean people give him money to write?"  
  
  
Michette laughed at Victoria's naivety, lying back down onto the bed.  
  
  
"Oh no no…much more physical payments. You know Maddie, don't you?"  
  
  
Victoria nodded, wondering where this conversation was heading. Michette folded her arms over her chest and stared at the ceiling.  
  
  
"Well, she used to always be in the Marquis' quarters- he's sweet on her- and sometimes I used to peep through the slot and see her paying 'im in kisses," Michette smirked, "and maybe a grope."  
  
  
One of Victoria's hands flew up to cover her mouth, shocked by such revelations.  
  
  
"Maddie? And the Marquis? My goodness…"  
  
  
Michette jabbed Victoria in the shoulder, grinning playfully.  
  
  
"Don't sound so shocked. I know you've been in there alone with him."  
  
  
Victoria went to defend herself, but instead silently closed her mouth. It was true. Michette jovially tapped Victoria's face, smiling wickedly.  
  
  
"He's gonna like you. You got this lovely fair hair…kind of…pure looking, ain't you? He'll like you then. He likes 'em young. Now I'm gonna get some sleep, and so should you."  
  
  
Michette pulled the bedsheets up to her shoulders and burrowed under them. Victoria watched her for a moment, wondering how on Earth she knew about her and the Marquis. What was it that Madeline had told her? Ah yes, even the walls have eyes. Apparently she had been told that by some kind of doctor. It wouldn't surprise her. Taking one last wistful glance at the parchments that lay on the floor, Victoria closed her eyes.  
  
  
  
The Marquis had slept exceptionally well that night, which was unusual for him. His overactive imagination all too often kept him awake, but at least he managed to purge his demons onto paper. Usually, when Abbe rapped on his door to wake him, he was sat at a desk, scrawling his latest vignette with worrying vigour. Not today, however. The hurried knock at his door roused him from his slumber. Sitting up in his bed, the Marquis scowled at the door. After a moment's silence, another knock.  
  
  
"Honestly, Abbe, must you rap until your knuckles bleed?"  
  
  
The Marquis strode over to the door and dramatically swung it open, grinning falsely at Abbe. He watched with a wicked delight as the younger man's eyes averted away from him, for he was clad only in his nightwear. He beckoned the priest in, shutting the door behind him.  
  
  
"Come come Abbe, no need to be embarrassed. I'm sure this nothing here you haven't seen before…unless of course, your vows apply to yourself."  
  
  
Abbe valiantly tried to ignore the Marquis' suggestion, but the desire to laugh tugged at the corner of his lips. The Marquis watched him closely, taking in every detail. Shame, such a virile man, full of endless potential, clad in such suffocating robes. Life was never fair. Sauntering over to his desk, his eyed the Abbe as he sat on the chaise lounge. He proved to be such a wondrous template for his story- him and Madeline both.   
  
  
Pushing two glasses forward, the Marquis leant over the desk and reached for a bottle of red wine.  
  
  
"Care for a little something to quench your thirst, Abbe?"  
  
  
The Abbe smiled politely at Marquis, shaking his head.  
  
  
"Not for me Marquis- this is going to be quite a fleeting visit."  
  
  
The Abbe rose to his feet, straightening his cassock. The Marquis shrugged and poured himself a glass of wine, sucking his finger as he spilt a drop.  
  
  
"Have you met the new chambermaid, Marquis?"  
  
  
The Marquis' eyes brightened, a grin spreading across his face.  
  
  
"Why yes, I have met our young Victoria. Comely little thing, isn't she?"  
  
  
On the mention of the word 'comely,' Abbe threw a sharp look at Marquis, just imagining what was going on in that overactive imagination of his. He walked over to the desk, facing off opposite the Marquis, his palms flat on the table.  
  
  
"Now, I don't want you saying- or doing- anything you shouldn't around her. She's the youngest here."  
  
  
The Marquis sipped at his wine, raising a quizzical eyebrow. Licking his lips, he set down his glass and drummed his fingers on the table. The Abbe gazed at his hand, noticing the extra ring upon it.  
  
  
"Where did you get that ring?"  
  
  
"Strangely enough, Cherub, our darling Victoria brought me this in the quiet of last night. Quite a gem, isn't she?"  
  
  
The smirk upon the Marquis' lips angered Abbe somewhat. Hopefully he wouldn't sink his fangs into someone quite so naïve as Victoria.   
  
  
"I'll have to inform her of the visiting rules before long. I'll excuse her this time."  
  
  
*I would have flogged her sorry arse myself*  
  
  
"You do that, pumpkin. Until then I promise that I'll stay well away."  
  
  
The Marquis smiled sweetly and sat in his chair behind the desk, eyes glittering. He could still detect some sort of underlying disbelief in Abbe's face. He held his hands up as if surrendering.  
  
  
"Abbe, do you really think of capable of anything really that bad?"  
  
  
Umpteen nuances trailed behind his voice, and Abbe could pick up on virtually every one.  
  
  
"Until then- no visitors."  
  
  
The Abbe smiled cordially and walked out of the Marquis' room. Shaking his head, the Marquis pulled out his work in progress and jotted down a couple more sentences. Quite dramatic, this one.   
  
  
*The Abbe of such asylum was a rather stiff man, rigid in his beliefs and also his body. He had a somewhat roving eye for the young lasses that wandered the corridors, aching for their physical downfall. And it was amazing, dear reader, how often he resisted such temptations, for ne'er before had such bountiful formations graced his presence.*  
  
  
"Marquis…"  
  
  
The Marquis jumped, startled by the sudden intrusion. However, he smothered his momentary slip in composure and grinned at Victoria, complete with flushed cheeks and parchments in hand.   
  
  
"Good morning, coquette. Enjoy your read last night?"  
  
  
Victoria nodded eagerly, stray strands of blonde hair falling in front of her eyes. Settling on the padded chair near the Marquis, she placed the parchments on his desk and laughed quietly to herself. The Marquis turned slowly to face her, silently observing every inch of her form.  
  
  
"Very much. I learnt quite a lot."  
  
  
In one sudden movement, the Marquis lifted her chin and looked into her eyes.  
  
  
"Ah yes, I can tell. Quite the enlightened one, aren't you?"  
  
  
He brushed the hair out of her eyes and tapped her cheek lightly.   
  
  
"There you go. Looking as virginal as ever, my dear."  
  
  
"Marquis! What are you doing?"  
  
  
The Marquis slowly raised his eyes to meet Madeline's, which was a direct contrast to Victoria's panicked rush to her feet. In her embarrassment, Victoria dashed out of the door, which was much to de Sade's chagrin.  
  
  
"Now look what you made her do."  
  
  
The Marquis punctuated his sentence with a pointed smile.  
  
  
"I was merely repaying her for a gift."  
  
  
Waggling his finger in front of Madeline, Marquis watched as slight surprise crossed her face. She leant forward to have a closer look, and the Marquis teasingly withdrew his hand.  
  
  
"Tsk tsk, coquette, don't be so eager."  
  
  
Madeline smiled wryly.  
  
  
"Well I'm not paying you to have a look."  
  
  
Turning on her heel, Madeline sauntered out of the quarters, fortunately not catching the scowl that contorted de Sade's features. He hadn't been 'paid' for his stories for a long time, and he was missing it- dearly. But of course, he saw a lot of potential in Victoria- her eagerness to read was far stronger than Madeline's had been at such an early stage in Charenton.  
  
  
  
Outside, in the cool corridor, Victoria was tagging after Abbe.  
  
  
"I'm sorry, Abbe, I didn't know that I wasn't supposed to be in there…"  
  
  
The Abbe stopped and placed a paternal hand on Victoria's shoulder, stopping her in her tracks.   
  
  
"You weren't to know- that's more my fault than yours. But you have to be careful with the Marquis."  
  
  
"Why is that?"  
  
  
The Abbe searched his mind for some more choice adjectives than the ones that might just spring to mind.  
  
  
"He can be quite…outlandish at times, Victoria. He's not the best company for one such as yourself to keep."  
  
  
As she watched Abbe walk away from her, she couldn't help but think of how intoxicating this all sounded. What could be so bad about the Marquis? 


	4. Worrying Over Nothing?

The Abbe sat alone in the cold kitchen, pushing his cooling food around the plate with his fork. His appetite had escaped him, although a certain weakness plagued his bones due to the lack of food he had consumed that day. He propped his chin on his hand, eyes not really focussing upon anything. His conversation with the Marquis that morning had bothered- even unnerved- him. He didn't like the way de Sade was referring to Victoria, and Abbe was fully aware that the Marquis' reference to her was not too dissimilar from the way he regarded Madeline. Despite his disapproval, Abbe knew that Madeline had been alone with Marquis, and he was quite sure that some of the time she spent with him was less then wholesome. Nonetheless, Madeline was of age, unlike Victoria. She was only sixteen, and painfully naïve at that. Already she was bestowing gifts upon the Marquis, being seduced by his charm, his charisma- something which Abbe secretly yearned for. There was no denying that the Abbe de Coulmier was a physically fetching man, but to his dismay, his lack of sexual power and his daily attire restricted both him and those around him. One hand idly reached up to his neck to toy with the crucifix that hung about his throat, the metal cold and almost abrasive to the touch.   
  
  
"Abbe?"  
  
  
The Abbe started, jolting upon the summon of Madeline's voice. He tried to regain his composure and turned to her, smiling benevolently.   
  
  
"Madeline…hello. Have you finished your laundry rounds already?"  
  
  
Madeline shook her head, a smile quirking at her lips. She skirted the kitchen, hoping to find some food that she could eat before starting back onto her rounds. Satisfied at her findings, she settled opposite the Abbe at the kitchen table and sipped at some water.  
  
  
"Not yet. But I've only a bit more to do and them I'm finished. Just thought I'd get something to eat before I started off again."  
  
  
She bit into her food, before looking up and seeing the thoughtfulness upon Coulmier's face. Chewing slowly, Madeline frowned and swallowed.  
  
  
"Something on your mind?"  
  
  
Abbe set down his glass and let his fingers encircle the stem, clearly agitated about something. His eyes always gave him away, and at that very moment they were positively blazing with unresolved thoughts.  
  
  
"Maddie…Maddie, do you feel safe with the Marquis?"  
  
  
There was a heavy tone of questioning lingering in his voice, one eyebrow slightly raised in uncertainty. He refrained from looking directly at her, as if he was not anticipating her answer. Madeline peered furtively over her glass and gathered words in her head, hoping to phrase them to Coulmier's approval.  
  
  
"Yes, of course. Forgets himself at times, but then again that's hardly a regular occurrence." She feigned innocence, her voice lilting slightly. "Why do you ask?"  
  
  
Abbe moved closer to her, his voice hushed. Madeline was all ears, but was trying her hardest not to show it. She knew that Abbe was aware of her 'visits' to the Marquis, but she always felt that if he were to know more than what was necessary he might just find out who the Marquis' dedicated smuggler was.  
  
  
"He's taken quite a shine to the new chambermaid, and that worries me. She is only young, and doesn't need to be accessing the Marquis' prose, or even his insidious suggestions." There was a nuance in Abbe's voice that seemed to be aimed at Madeline; subliminal messaging that wasn't actually turning out to be that subtle. Madeline stood up and picked up both her and Abbe's glasses, refilling them with water from a jug on a nearby table.   
  
  
"Victoria? I'm sure she'll have forgotten him in a couple of days. Her fascination is merely that- fascination. She does not love him, so there's no need to worry. Anyhow, I'm sure that the Marquis would not take advantage of such a young girl."  
  
  
Coulmier laughed bitterly to himself, rolling his eyes in a laughably adolescent style.  
  
  
"Oh, I wouldn't put it past him. We all know what he did to that prostitute, and she was no more than Victoria's age. In fact, she may have been younger."   
  
  
Madeline raised her eyebrows and placed the glasses back onto the table, resuming her sitting position. Worry had begun to gnaw at her mind, and subconsciously Madeline raised her hand to the back of her neck. She had been trying to avoid being with the Marquis on her own recently, and if Abbe were to stop Victoria seeing him, then he would look elsewhere. And somehow, Madeline couldn't see him accepting a visit from Charlotte.  
  
  
"That was in the past. And I think that as a man of God, you might find it in your heart to forgive such indiscretions. And also, even stopping Victoria will urge her to do quite the opposite. I was sixteen once- I know what it's like."  
  
  
Smiling despite himself, Abbe peered inquisitively at Madeline and shook his head slowly.  
  
  
"Somehow, I cannot envisage you as being sixteen. Were you different? I'd like to know."   
  
  
There was a distinct coyness in Abbe's question, and it made Madeline smile. His genuine curiosity and overall naïve charm intrigued her.  
  
  
"Well, I didn't know half as much as I do now, hadn't seen anything. My father was still alive then, although to be quite honest I never really knew him that well anyway." She paused, fiddling with her cutlery. "And you? What were you like?"  
  
  
"I was in the monastery then," Abbe mused, "still a young boy, I suppose. When you're in such a place, the world is hidden away from you, boxed away until the day you leave and then it is presented in all its…glory," he laughed. "I'm glad I came here, however, despite my concerns." He nodded his head to himself, smiling at Madeline.  
  
  
"I'm worried over nothing, aren't I?"  
  
  
"Yes, yes you are. Now I have to get back to my round. I shall speak to you later."  
  
  
The Abbe de Coulmier watched Madeline leave, sighing before continuing on with his meal.  
  
  
  
  
Victoria lay in bed that afternoon, a fever gripping her young body. She dressed in a thin cotton nightgown, and her body wrestled with hot and cold flushes. One minute she wrapped herself tightly in her blanket, the next she was kicking it off in feverish frustration. Michette would occasionally pass by and bring her something to drink, but until then she was left alone.   
  
  
A light, hazy sleep had drifted upon her, so when her chamber door opened it woke Victoria. She spoke automatically, her voice feeble and cracked.  
  
  
"It's alright Michette, I'm not thirsty."  
  
  
"I'm not here to bring you water, I'm here to ask you something," chirped Michette, eyes sparkling. Pulling back the sheet, Michette grasped Victoria's elbow and hauled her out of the bed. Victoria coughed suddenly, the movement aggravating her lungs. She stumbled over her own feet, rubbing blearily at her eyes. Michette's face was the picture of excitement and scandal.  
  
  
"The Marquis has asked to see you- on your own. I told him you weren't well and he wants to offer you some…medicine." The pause in Michette's sentence unnerved Victoria, but she allowed her to push her out of the door nonetheless.   
  
  
"But what about my clothes? I'm not properly dre…" the door slammed shut in her face. Wrapping her arms about her to generate some warmth, Victoria padded down the corridor to the Marquis' cell.  
  
  
  
  
The Marquis had been quite bored that afternoon. His inspiration was rather low, and the day had only been meagrely brightened by a visit from Michette. She had mentioned that Victoria wasn't feeling quite so well, and this intrigued him. He assured Michette that he had quite the tonic for her ailment, and could she send her along as soon as possible, please?   
  
He had been sitting at his desk when her heard the ginger rap at his quarter door. A cat like smile spread across his face, and summoning all of the aristocratic class he had into his voice, the Marquis called out: "Come in child, you have a key." 


	5. In The Flesh & On The Page

Doctor Royer-Collard extinguished his candle between thumb and forefinger and sighed loudly as he lay back on his bed. His steely eyes scanned the modest, yet comfortable room that he had been accommodated to, and a small snarl of disgust curled his lips. He had only been at Charenton a while, but already he was beginning to tire of the place. The inmates that childishly rambled during the day and moaned at night grated on his nerves, and the sickeningly naïve Abbe de Coulmier infuriated him. He was too kind with the inmates, too gentle. No-one would ever purge their demons by painting.   
  
Despite his insistent summons, sleep escaped Royer-Collard. Anger always kept him awake, and with astute decisiveness he rose from his bed and quickly dressed, preening himself in the mirror to perfection. Sweeping his cloak about him, and seizing his hat and cane, he opened his door and prepared to visit his previous home for the night.   
  
  
  
When he heard the quiet knock on his door, the Marquis uncurled from his sitting position and stood at his desk, two glasses of wine ready poured in front of him. He relished in the sound of the key unlocking the door, the slight creak as it opened. A knowing smile highlighted his features, and he held out one of the glasses to Victoria. She must have been quite ill, for her skin was positively ashen. Her hair was tousled with sleep, her whole image tainted with the inevitable scruffiness of the sick.  
  
"My dear, I *am* sorry to hear of your illness. Come, sit down, you look as though you are about to faint."  
  
The Marquis beckoned towards a chair situated next to his own, and both he and Victoria took a seat. She took the wineglass from de Sade, and took one ginger sip before taking a larger swallow. All the time, the Marquis watched her, silently rejoicing in her gullibility.   
  
"I heard you had a medicine for me." Victoria's voice was thick with fatigue. The Marquis set down his glass and nodded, shifting his chair closer to Victoria.  
  
"Yes, yes. This brandywine is actually quite an efficient medicine, although it is not the one I have planned." One of his arms encircled her shoulders, the other hand gesturing towards his shelf that was cluttered with his overly graphic statues.  
  
"You see these figurines, coquette? Do you ever wonder what they symbolise?"  
  
Victoria peered over her wine glass with wide eyes, slightly uneasy with the way the Marquis could see right through her. She had previously pondered over the ornaments, their positions, and their anatomy. She took another swig from her glass and then set it down on the desk in front of her.  
  
"Sometimes. I've not had much…experience to base it all upon anyway. Never been in men's company before, really."  
The wine had already begun to loosen Victoria's tongue, much to the Marquis' delight. The hand that was draped oh so casually over her shoulder inched closer to her chest, flimsily covered by her cotton nightgown.   
  
"Well, there's no time like the present, is there? How old are you, dearest? Sixteen?"  
  
Victoria nodded, a small frown knitting her eyebrows. "Why do you ask?"  
  
A distinct brazenness tinged her voice, and the Marquis used it as an opportunity to move even closer to her. "Just my curiosity getting the better of me, sweetpea. Now, I am going to ask you quite a favour." He pressed his lips against her ear, whispering conspiratorially. "You know Madeline and Abbe, don't you? Just nod for yes." Victoria nodded, the movement almost involuntarily due to the wine's effect. "Now, I am writing a new story- one quite to your liking- and I am using them as…templates. I want you to 'watch' them for me. Just for my own inspiration. Do you understand, Victoria?"  
  
Again, she nodded, except this time there was a spark of comprehension in her eyes.   
  
"You're asking me to spy?"  
  
The Marquis widened his eyes in faux shock, the slightest twitch of a smile lifting his lips.   
  
"No no no, of course not dearest, I just find our beloved darlings utterly inspiring." He gestured toward the stack of parchments upon his desk, a glass vase exploding with quills. "And unfortunately, my little story isn't running quite so smoothly as planned. So I thought that the goings-on within Charenton may fuel my…quill, yes?" He leant back in his chair, crossing his hands behind his head, forming a makeshift pillow.  
  
"You must leave me now, for I'm sure that Valcour's suspicions will be more than aroused, and I want you to start your little observations as soon as possible. Charenton does come alive at night, after all."  
  
Victoria, surprised by the sudden break in contact, rose unsteadily to her feet, her head swimming with fever and tipsiness.  
  
"As long as I won't get into any trouble," she murmured, trudging to the Marquis' door and shutting it behind her. He smiled wickedly, digging his nails into an unpeeled orange upon his table.   
  
"Trouble? I hope you shall enjoy it," he mused, excitement already beginning to stir in his stomach.  
  
  
  
Madeline sighed as she uncovered more bleached linens to fold, the flickering flame that provided the light in the room accentuating the dark, tired hollows under her eyes. Upon her sigh, Charlotte cast her ever-meddlesome eye over Madeline. In truth, she was jealous of the younger maid- her vibrant, youthful sensuality, the admiring looks she would get from the guards as she walked down the corridor, laundry basket on her hip. Tutting loudly, she raised her voice for the other maids to hear.  
  
"Tired, Maddie? Too many late nights, I think. Who's your chosen bedmate, then? Anyone we know?"  
  
There was an underlying slyness to her voice. Charlotte had seen the lingering gazes that were often shared between the Abbe and Madeline, and felt that familiar pang of bitterness and jealousy.  
  
Madeline was unprepared for her interrogation, and blinked as she raised her head in Charlotte's direction.  
  
"Why are you so interested in my supposed love life? Always thought you were a bit fanciful, Charlotte, but I never thought you'd turn your gaze to *me*."  
  
Michette made no effort to smother her giggle, and a flaming blush appeared on Charlotte's sallow cheeks. Other maids in the room made their amusement less known, and Madeline was not to know that her retort would provoke Charlotte to her next statement.  
  
"I'm sure that I wouldn't be entirely inaccurate if I could guess who you wish it was, Madeline." An infuriating smirk contorted her bitter features. She raised her voice to an even greater volume. "I bet it's our beloved Abbe de Coulmier."  
  
Madeline trembled slightly, but she shoved her hands back in the linens and scowled at Charlotte.   
  
"Such whimsical accusations, Charlotte. Please keep your overactive imagination to yourself."  
  
With that, she hurriedly folded the last few linens and quickly walked out of the laundryroom, hoping that her embarrassment wasn't too evident. In her haste, she didn't notice the two figures lurking in the darkness. Doctor Royer-Collard smiled satisfactorily to himself, and Victoria quickly made her way back to the Marquis' cell. 


	6. Dream Of Madeline

The Chapel was one of the Abbe de Coulmier's favourite haunts. Its blackened quietness and smoky intimacy never failed to soothe him, the dying shafts of sunlight trickling through the glorious stain-glassed windows, casting delicate shades of red and blue onto the stone floor. The air was heavy with incense, a small tendril of smoke curling into the air before disappearing, leaving behind a violet haze. The sky outside had succumbed to the sapphire-tinged clouds as they tumbled ahead, suffocating the sun in their insistent journey. Charenton was relatively quiet now- the inmates were eating, the staff doing odd jobs, and the building was at peace.  
  
Coulmier required tranquillity for his daily prayers. Normally they were interrupted by a wail or cry, or more pleasantly so by Madeline. His dreams of her had become more frequent now, more vivid, the sensations they caused lingering on his body for far longer than usual. He would wake up with a bitter disappointment, his heart hammering in his chest, porcelain skin highlighted with a flush, and most infuriatingly, a nagging frustration that pumped through his blood and teased him that such occurrences were never likely to happen.   
  
He knelt before the altar, emerald eyes closed, slender fingers clasped loosely in prayer, a rosary dangling delicately over them. His lips moved as whispered prayers escaped them, thumbs rolling the wooden beads. The tiny cross quivered delicately in mid-air, the body of Christ moulded to it, Jesus' eyes lifted in a rictus of agony, mouth dangling open, scarlet rivulets streaming down his forehead, the side of his sunken face, ribs protruding with each ragged breath that He had taken. A sound drifted in from outside, a tinkling, delicate laugh, most definitely a girl. The Abbe de Coulmier didn't need to open his eyes to tell that it was Madeline. Setting down the rosary, and feeling the familiar tug at his heart, he folded his arms on the altar, resting his head upon them, and let his most vivid waking dreams embrace him.  
  
  
  
*"The Doctor's chosen preference could only be described as immature, his penchant for those of an indecently underripe age the constant talk of his town. The villagers would always look for his new conquest, complete with her sunken chest and unbearably slender arms, and watch as he would indulge her with the finest gifts to compensate for the skills that he lacked in the bedroom. His technique was far from honed, for he was an obscenely late developer, not losing his inhibitions until at least of forty Winters. Still it seemed his fixation remained at adolescence, and each one of his childbrides was subjected to the most abominable of tortures…"*  
  
A knock on his door interrupted the Marquis' thoughts.   
  
"Psst- it's me. Can I come in?"  
  
*Speak of the Devil,* mused de Sade, before rising to his feet and awaiting the girls' visit. He dusted off his clothes, momentarily rearranging his wig before standing boldly at his desk. If he was honest, he did not feel attracted to the girl in the slightest, for she possessed a naivety that bothered him. She lacked the sauciness and cheekiness that Madeline had, a trait that made him long for her with all his heart. And other important organs. He had missed her recently, and he knew that he was slowly losing her to the other person he loved as equally as much as her lovely self. And that pained him far more than any of the weapons of his imagination.  
  
"Come in darling. I'm eager for some news." In truth, although the idea of the Abbe and Madeline together inflamed him beyond belief, he hoped that nothing would be there, for he could corrupt both of them, introduce them into the sensual world, as opposed to two eager amateurs fumbling nervously in the dark as both exhausting themselves in a frustratingly short space of time. He sighed heavily, sipping at his wine. Their time would come.   
  
The sound of the thick iron key turning in the door distracted Donatien's attentions, and he was grateful for the diversion. He smiled his catlike smile as Victoria entered the room, her body clearly exhausted but her eyes alive with scandal. She shut the door behind her, but in her haste it didn't quite close. The Marquis observed this with a careful eye.   
  
"I can't stay long, Marquis, but I do have something to tell you," she proclaimed breathlessly, chest rising and falling tantalisingly with her anxiety, "when I was in the laundry room, Charlotte said something to Madeline about lying with the Abbe, about inviting her back to his bed. Whether it's true or not is another matter, but still…it's an idea."   
  
De Sade smiled somewhat falsely, his heart aching. "I've become a sentimental old fool, my peach. Things like this have started to affect my heart. Something has started to lighten my blackened soul!" he proclaimed, flinging his arms up into the air. There was a slight madness about his actions that frightened the young girl. His façade was beginning to crumble, it seemed. She backed away, flashing a weak, watery smile. "I-I hope you can put the ideas to use, for this spying business is harder than it looks. Good day, Marquis."  
  
Outside the door, Madeline LeClerc moved too quickly for either of them to realise that she had been listening.  
  
  
  
Her mouth was soft against his, supple and succulent, her pale and slender fingers twisting in his ebony hair and she pulled him down to her. Groans reverberated from his throat, half of longing and half of despair as he surrendered to her, losing himself in a storm of tangled limbs and frantic hands, smooth flesh and sighs and moans. Her body was writhing and curvaceous beneath him, his hands roaming over her, discovering places that he had only dreamed of. She was willing, losing herself too, eager to forget the repression that had been forced on them, the silken skin of her thighs tightening about him, long, shapely legs wrapped about him, urging him to do what he- nor she- had ever ventured to do before. The fingers of one of his hands raked through her gloriously long hair, pulling her head back slightly so he could mouth and suckle at her throat, his other hand interlocking with hers before reaching down to guide himself inside her, all sounds trapped in his throat at the wonder of it all. Their ids, finally unleashed, as they revelled in the intimacy, the passion, the spontaneity, sweat-bejewelled limbs entwining as all inhibition disappeared.  
  
As always, the Abbe's dream was interrupted, his heart racing like a kettle drum, perspiration beading his forehead, his pre-loosened shirt allowing cooler air to circulate around his, and a pulse between his thighs that drove him to distraction. The rap on the quarter door was quiet, but underlying it was a certain sense of urgency. Coulmier rose to his feet, wiping at his forehead with a clammy hand, straightening his cassock and hoping that he walk from the altar to the door would lessen his arousal. His footsteps echoed on the stone walls, the saints seeming to have closed their eyes in reverence of the priest's privacy. Even a follower of Christ deserved their dreams.  
  
The Abbe de Coulmier opened the heavy chapel door, his heart still leaping with delight when he saw Madeline standing there, blue eyes alight with fire. Despite his potent mental awakening, the Abbe still felt concern freeze the boiling blood in his veins. Subconsciously, he grasped the girls' hand, leading her into the chapel.  
  
"Maddie? Is something the matter?" His voice trembled slightly, although Coulmier was grateful for the occasion that could mask the fact that it was due to his fantasies still making him light-headed with lust. Madeline darted into the room, not removing her hand from the Abbe's. Her voice was clipped, and shaking.  
  
"Victoria's been telling the Marquis that there's rumours going around," she stopped suddenly, seeing the urgent curiosity in the young priest's eyes, "about *us*. Saying that there's a…romantic thing."   
  
Madeline bowed her head shyly away upon her final revelation, but one eye kept open for Coulmier's reaction. She watched as his handsome faced contorted in surprise.  
  
"About us? This kind of talk could destroy us both, Madeline." Despite his ever vivid fantasies, it seemed that Coulmier still had a sense of logical work ethic about him. Madeline finally pulled her hand from his, much to Abbe's disappointment.   
  
"I know. I just didn't want you to be the last to know. You know how quickly gossip flies around Charenton. Although we've nothing to feel guilty about…" her voiced trailed off, tinged with what might interpreted as sadness. The Abbe watched her every movement, her eyes lowered, full lips slightly parted, tendrils of dark hair curling delicately at her shoulder. He felt his breath quicken momentarily, before swallowing loudly and composing himself. There was a long silence before Madeline spoke again.  
  
"I think Royer-Collard is responsible."   
  
The Abbe stared at Madeline in bemusement, shards of confusion glittering in his eyes.  
  
"Madeline…what on Earth? What in the name of God makes you think that?"  
  
"Well," she began to answer, "he's never liked either of us from day one, and he's looking over the whole of Charenton, not just the inmates. And Victoria mentioned spying…so…" Madeline stopped, voice full of uncertainty, waiting for the Abbe's comment regarding her suggestion. The silence was tangible, before Coulmier decided to speak.   
  
"I'm at loss, Madeline. Both of our reputations are at stake, and people here can't seem to differentiate between reality and fantasy." He stopped speaking as soon as he felt Madeline's hand caress his own yet again. Struck dumb with wonderment, he gazed back at her with a mixture of emotions. "I…"  
  
"Sssh," Madeline soothed, detecting Abbe's potent fright, "we've nothing to be persecuted for."   
  
Deep in his heart, the Abbe longed for a reason to be condemned. 


End file.
